Monday, March 30, 2009

Rough weather has brought a hardy band of pigs to this most humble islet. They were on their way to a pig-killing contest, presumably, when their mast snapped, their sails split, and the Almighty guided them onto the sandy, wave-lapped shore.

Instantly, they set to work, remaking this hard land in the image of the gentle life they left behind.

First up: a barbecue crafted from coconut shells and palm fronds. Lo, providence has even supplied them with a barbecue fork! Saints be praised! Along with minor stuff like food, shelter, and clothing, that's really all they need.

And so, the essentials taken care of, they are ready to begin civilization anew. Yes, New Suicidefoodland will provide for their every need. Mostly, fattening up and being barbecued and eaten.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

We must say at the outset that we have no idea what this is. Is it promotional material for an actual event? An inside joke? An artist's elaborate doodle? We just don't know.

Nevertheless, we cannot look away, for it so perfectly expresses a central theme of suicidefoodism:

The animals see themselves primarily as food. The culinary traditions for which they are ingredients are signifiers as important to them as nations and religions are to humans.

And so the duel, for blood or simply bragging rights, is the culmination of a movement dedicated to driving pigs, cows, and chickens—mostly those, but any animal will do—insane.

For behold! They can be made to identify with their killers, cookers, and consumers so thoroughly, so fiercely, that they will fight on their behalf. Instead of turning their rage around and setting it loose on rational targets, they turn on each other. Divide and conquer. Oldest trick in the book. But fight on, chickens. Fight on for the glory of "your" particular cuisine.

Don't look at the ringside seats unless you want to see the barbecuers wiping the drool away with the backs of their hands.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

It is a favorite theme of ours, the power of suicidefoodism to combine the uncombinable and thereby overwhelm critical thinking in a torrent of absurdity. (This so-called juxtapositional movement reached its apogee here.)

Today's example of this tactic is Blues Brothers-related barbecue imagery. We assume these two cows, six pigs, two wolves (?), and the chicken, too, are on a "mission from God." Theirs no doubt being their eventual consumption. Who are they to question the Almighty?

Against all sense, against all hope of order in the universe, John Landis's beloved 1980 ode to madcap adventure and the redemptive power of music becomes nothing more than a vehicle by which pigs, cows, and chickens debase themselves. No matter how many times we see this type of bizarre plundering of pop culture treasure, it never fails to depress us.

Some observations:

1) In the case of Panama City's Blues & BBQ 5K run, we are just plain puzzled. Sure, Jake and Elwood worked up a sweat on stage, but John Belushi wasn't exactly famous for his fondness for aerobic exercise. Could there be two more arbitrary characters to base an ad campaign around?

2) Two pigs are missing their hands. Can you spot them? (Can you explain what happened to their hands?)

3) For some reason, wolves are now included in the mix? We suppose this makes the chicken in their company doubly suicidal?

4) All but one of the above manage to avoid the use of the Brothers' iconic car.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

And to think: He owes it all to a divine loophole! Eating meat during Lent would be sinful, but fortunately (wink, wink) this isn't meat. No, no. Far from it. It's merely the flesh of an… animal. That lives in the sea.

And the best (read: worst) part? The fish is having more fun with this than the parishoners! Posing for the placard, wearing the chef's hat, smiling.

Face it: he loves the attention as much as he craves the dying.

Look at him. Pious, yet smug. He knows they're coming for him. Now is his season. They have no choice but to eat him, and he will accommodate.

You can't read the entire codicil at the bottom of the notice: "They'll even bake fish for those who can't eat fried food!"

The fish has arranged it cleverly. They have no reason to deny him now. Nothing stands in the way of their sacred duty (the eating of fish), nor his (the being eaten).

Friday, March 20, 2009

Are you an all-star? Would you want to be? Do you know what happens to BBQ all-stars?

Apparently, they get stuff rubbed all over their flesh before being flung onto the grill!

Still interested in trying out for the team? You'll have to train and train hard! Get to know the original blend line-up:

Chicken! (Hanging in.)

Pig! (Delighted to be coated and cooked.)

Cow! (Dubious.)

Fish! (Asphyxiating. Finally.)

Assorted unidentifiable, nonmeat objects! (Huh? Who let them in here?)

Arrayed around the altar, the all-stars joyfully (or, in the case of the cow, solemnly) contemplate their crummy fate. The clockticks come like heartbeats, slower and slower still. Time drags when you're waiting to be covered in spicy powders and made into a foodstuff.

At the whistle, they'll hurl themselves onto the coals to do what they do best: brown and become tender. All for you. All for the fans.

The dominant features here are the apple of death and the salt and pepper shakers held high. What has made this pig so richly beloved is just this deep commitment to service. Not content merely to sacrifice himself to you, he goes above and beyond, insuring that his meat is sweet, moist, and adequately seasoned. But more important than that is the rock-solid assurance that you won't have to so much as reach for the salt—it's all right there. He's even holding a fork for you. And if you need a napkin? Take his!

It is surely significant that five of the six so-called lookalikes of this pig archetype (who, henceforth, shall be known as Full Service) represent restaurants named after individuals. We'll leave it to others to discover the nature of the significance.

May we take this opportunity to right a wrong? In our analysis of Main Street BBQ in December, 2006, we erroneously referred to the pig's raised glass. Raised glass? It's so obvious now.

Addendum (4/06/09): Full Service shows up in his fatigues on behalf of Camo Cookers. (Well, it's more like military-issue napery than a complete uniform.) Number 8!

Addendum 2 (2/08/10): It's Full Service's ninth appearance, and look! His napkin's blue! (We'll take innovation where we can get it.)

Addendum 3 (11/07/10): Example #10.

Addenda 4, 5, and 6 (5/18/11): It's been a while! Here we go with three more examples of Full Service, bringing his total to 13. (Grills & Thrills, Smoke House Bar & BBQ, and Magic Mike's Bar-B-Q.)

Monday, March 16, 2009

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Diagnosis

What is Suicide Food? Suicide Food is any depiction of animals that act as though they wish to be consumed. Suicide Food actively participates in or celebrates its own demise. Suicide Food identifies with the oppressor. Suicide Food is a bellwether of our decadent society. Suicide Food says, “Hey! Come on! Eating meat is without any ethical ramifications! See, Mr. Greenjeans? The animals aren’t complaining! So what's your problem?” Suicide Food is not funny.